Everything Comes with a Price
by Scilera
Summary: One-shot written for redandthewolf's Whiskey and Regrets Challenge on LJ. Prompts in the chapter. Each time Remus gets what he wants, it comes with a price. When is it too high?


I've lived on borrowed strength

**I've lived on borrowed strength  
Now my supplies are cut  
Though I'm older than my looks  
And older than my years  
I'm too young to take on  
My deepest fears  
- Blue Skies, by A-ha**

**Firewhiskey/ Blood-Replenishing Potion**

**Should have/have not: Trusted**

_  
Hard to breathe…_ Remus Lupin thought to himself, sitting in a musty armchair in the corner of the library of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. On the end table next to him was a steaming goblet, the last evidence of the foul-smelling potion that he'd drunk five minutes ago; in his hand was a bottle of Old Ogden's. The full moon had been the night before—the first one since Sirius fell—and the wolf, deprived of Padfoot again, was not pleased.

He knew he should toss the Firewhiskey and go lie down—alcohol and Blood-Replenishing Potions did not mix well—but that would mean achieving a level of clarity he wasn't quite ready for, not yet. He used to be stronger than this, but if Remus was honest with himself, he knew that his strength had not been his own. He could feel the new blood pumping through his veins, and growled softly as the blood to alcohol ratio grew steadily. Taking a swig from his bottle, he tucked up his legs and curled into a ball, leaning back into the plush leather.

That was his mistake.

In the process of making himself more comfortable, Remus had pressed his face into the back of the chair, and had inhaled a strong and unmistakable scent. Rain, earth and wet dog combined in a way that was unique to Sirius, and the sudden assault of the scent made Remus' eyes sting. He finished off the firewhiskey in one, long series of gulps, flung the bottle against the far wall and punched the chair as he listened to the unsatisfying shatter of glass.

That had been his last bottle, and he knew damned well Molly wouldn't let him bring anymore into the house. He hadn't eaten anything this past week. Full moons always made him lose his appetite, and this time there was no Sirius to convince him to eat. Sirius had always been persuasive. No one else was persuasive enough.

"_You need to eat something, Moony. You'll turn inside out unless we get something in your stomach," Sirius teased, the light tone covering the worry in his eyes._

"_Sirius, I can't even _begin_ to tell you the ways in which that is not only implausible, but impossible," Remus grumbled into Sirius' shoulder, using the convenient position to hide his smile. "I'm not hungry."_

"_You say that now Moony, but you'll be ravenous later. You know that. C'mon, you need some sugar and you need some protein. What would you like to eat?" Sirius persisted, the arm around Remus' shoulders moving up and down as he rubbed his friend's arm. _

"_I told you, nothing. There is nothing in this damned castle that could make me hungry tonight." Remus leaned forward and nipped the other boy's neck a bit sharper than usual. "Drop it."_

"_Nothing, nothing in the whole damned castle, Moony?" Sirius asked, a mischievous smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he put a hand up to presumably hide said smile. Just as Remus opened his mouth to tell Sirius for the millionth time that no, nothing would whet his appetite, Sirius leaned down and kissed him. A little surprised at the sudden motion, Remus drew a momentary mind blank, and when Sirius' tongue slipped in, it was a bit of a shock._

_It tasted like chocolate._

_Eager to explore the latest in a long series of Sirius Black Mysteries, Remus wriggled closer, dragging his tongue over Sirius'. Sure enough it was chocolate he was tasting, and the combination of his favorite flavor and the feel of Sirius' tongue was intoxicating. Eagerly—almost greedily—he pushed his friend back into the couch, turning the tables by slipping his tongue into Sirius' mouth. _

_Chocolate. In his teeth, on the edges of his gums, on his tongue, the insides of his cheek—all had been exposed to the dark ambrosia. It made quite the mess actually, though that didn't present a problem, as Remus was more than willing to clean up. By the time he was finished, both boys were flushed and panting. Only someone with as much gall as Sirius Black could manage to smirk at such a time, and smirk he did._

"_Told you, you were hungry."_

"Goddamn it, Sirius, God _fucking_ damn it."

Those were the only five words he could come up with. Everything hurt, from the incessant pounding behind his eyes to the sharp tingling down his spine, to the dull ache he could feel in every single joint. It was maddening, this pain. It danced just under the surface. It was enough to keep him awake, but not enough to keep him from thinking—from remembering.

His gaze wandered over to the bookshelf by the hearth. There, sitting in open view, was _The Portrait of Dorian Gray_ bound in black leather and embossed with gold.

_March was never a happy month in Remus Lupin's humble opinion. It always meant a lot of rain, and not the nice rain one gets in the summer, but an icy sheet that brings with it a damp which permeates the very air he breathes. That, and every March means the transformations get harder, the wolf gets more vicious and it takes longer to heal._

_So it is quite understandable that this particular morning in March found him staring bleakly out the window into that selfsame freezing drizzle. He'd dressed in layers to fight off the damp chill, and was wearing a particularly soft grey jumper that—despite it's comfort—did little to alleviate the shivers that wracked his body. Therefore, he was almost inordinately pleased when a pair of warm arms snaked around his waist; arms which pulled him backwards to lean against a warmer chest as a mouth leaned in to kiss his neck._

"_Mmm, Happy Birthday Moony," Sirius murmured, his voice still rough with sleep._

_Remus relaxed into the embrace, closing his eyes and smiling softly as he laid his hands over Sirius'. "Thanks, Pads, though I don't really see what's so happy about it," he added dourly._

_Sirius snorted. "Well, for one thing, we both have the day off of work, which means a day of lounging about with me—a thing to be treasured I'm sure." He sucked at the spot just under Remus' ear and was satisfied in the gasp he got. "And of course, there're presents to be had and opened and enjoyed before we meet up with the others at the pub tonight."_

"_Presents?" Remus tried to keep his voice neutral—and failed. It was common knowledge that Sirius Black gave the best presents._

"_Mmhmm," Sirius nodded into Remus' neck. He pulled back for just a second, reaching around him to grab something off the table. "Now close your eyes." Only when he was sure his partner wasn't peeking did Sirius set the object in his hands, wrapping his now free ones around a particularly inviting Moony waist._

_Remus opened his eyes to find a handsome, black leather book in his hands. When he saw the title, embossed in gold on the front cover, his eyes misted over. _

"_Go on, open it," Sirius urged as he watched from over Remus' shoulder. _

_Remus complied. On the inside cover, in a very familiar hand was an inscription—done in fine, black ink. Remus read aloud._

"_To my Remus, _

"_You are the Dorian to my inner Basil. Know that I'll always protect you, even from your inner Harry._

"_Sirius." _

_For a long moment, Remus couldn't speak. Sirius began to shift behind him, growing uncomfortable with the prolonged silence. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Remus turned in his embrace, set the book down on the table and reached up to run his fingers through that midnight-colored hair. His other hand reached up to lightly grip Sirius' chin as Remus placed fluttering kisses on his forehead, his eyes, his nose and finally his mouth._

It had been one of the few things from _that time_ that Remus couldn't bring himself to throw away. It had been one of the things he'd brought with him when he moved into Grimmauld Place.

_Sirius trudged up the stairs and deposited a box on the floor in the drawing room—the one room they'd deemed safest and thus their base of operations. _

"_Well, here's the last of it," he declared, wiping a bit of sweat off of his forehead. Remus nodded, engrossed in some manuscript he was decoding for the Order. Determined to be useful, Sirius opened the box to begin un-packing. There, on the top of a veritable stack of books, was the black, leather-bound novel he'd given Remus for his birthday those many years ago._

_He tried to ignore just how much his fingers shook as he picked up the novel and opened it, reading its inside cover._

Remus had noticed, of course. Sirius was never that quiet without reason. They'd joked about the double meaning to the name Harry now. It was always a rare occasion to hear Sirius really laugh, and Remus had come to pride himself on his ability to coax the sound out of his jaded lover, trapped in a prison of the worst kind.

Suddenly he felt a sick lurch, as if something heavy had just dropped from his throat to his stomach. He doubled over, a low groan escaping his lips. He keeled forwards, landing in a heap on the floor. For a long moment, he lay there, a horrid pain spreading from his torso out to his extremities. When it finally subsided, he sat up, limbs still shaky. He glanced up at the chair he'd fallen from and immediately fell back.

Sirius was sitting there, reclining and smiling rather like a loon.

"Wha—?"

Sirius merely shook his head, pain showing through eyes like a summer storm as the grin faded.

Remus looked at him, really _looked_ at him. His hair was long, had regained more of its former luster, and his skin had lost much of its wax-like pallor. He'd put on weight, and though he was still dressed in the tatty robes he had worn at Grimmauld Place and there were lines around his eyes and mouth, Remus thought he'd never looked better.

"You're dead," Remus stated simply.

Sirius didn't say anything.

"Why are you here? Haven't you tormented me enough?" Remus couldn't keep the spite out of his voice.

Still Sirius said nothing.

Remus reached up, shaking fingers aching to touch, to find proof. Sirius raised his own hand, and held it out to Remus, whose fingers fell through the open palm.

"Ghost?" Remus queried. Sirius smiled but said nothing. "No, I can't see through you." He considered this a moment, his brow pulling inwards in thought. Before he could get very far, another spasm of pain rocked him, this one was shorter, sharper. When it passed, he looked up again, panting for breath.

"I hate you."

Sirius said nothing.

"No, I don't, do I?" the pale man asked from the floor. "That's the problem. If I hated you, this wouldn't hurt so much." He ran a hand through his hair, bringing out the lines of grey amidst the brown. "I'm too old for this," he remarked flatly, heaving a sigh as he struggled to sit upright. "I'm too old and I'm only thirty-five. You did this to me you know, you and Peter."

Sirius looked affronted at being lumped with Peter, but still said nothing.

"You knew I wasn't strong. You remember. First year, the wind could have blown me away. It was only afterwards that I grew strong. It was you and James and Peter and Lily. You were all so alive, so vibrant. I took my strength from all of you, but I don't think anyone else ever found out. Because of you, I became human; because of you, I could live, I could love."

Sirius' eyes grew misty, but still he said nothing.

"I made the biggest mistake. I began to believe that I _was_ strong, that I could be like you, all of you. You didn't help. You said you wanted me, you held me, kissed me, fucked me, protected me. I gave you my soul and you made me alive. It was a high price to pay, but I was young and stupid. I had a family. You were my partner, Lily our sister, James was our brother—your twin and my defender—and Peter was the bumbling little brother we all took turns watching over. For the first time in my life I felt safe. But then the strings got cut, didn't they?" Remus snapped, his voice betraying long held anger, suppressed betrayal.

Sirius now had tears streaming openly down his face, but still he said nothing.

"I deluded myself. I thought the war couldn't touch us. We talked less, but I blamed myself. I'd run out of things to say, and really when you came home battered and bloody from yet another mission gone wrong, what was there to say? Then one night you didn't come home. You know I spent three days trying to find you? Three days, Sirius. I thought you had died. Then I came home, found muddy tracks everywhere and the bike was gone. Two hours later, a team of Aurors broke down the door and stunned me." He'd never told Sirius this story before. When he was alive Remus had been so afraid of making him feel more guilt than he already did. "I woke up in a cold, metal chair.

"I don't know how long I was down there. They kept asking me if I knew where you were and if I'd been friends with James, Lily and Peter and what I'd been doing the past six months and had I ever had any dealings with the Dark Lord. I still had no idea what was going on. Finally a woman in a lime green robe came and told me what had happened. My family was dead, murdered at the hands of my partner, the one who held my soul. My pillars shattered, and I knew then that strength had not been mine. But still I went on. You were alive, and I could learn to hate you. That gave me a goal, and for twelve years I found strength in teaching myself to loathe. It almost worked."

Remus gathered his feet beneath him, pushing to his hands and knees before levering up, standing shakily. He drew back his fist and threw a punch at Sirius' jaw. It connected spot on and snapped the ex-convict's head back. Remus stared. "Not a ghost then. Figures.

"But then you had to go and do the impossible. You broke out of Azkaban, you tracked Peter. You proved your innocence. And once again, my world came crashing down around my shoulders. My one source of strength was suddenly meaningless and for weeks I floundered. Then Dumbledore sent you to me, and suddenly I had to be strong again, but I didn't have any strength to tap. So I pretended. The tables were turned and you fed strength from me, but it was a hollow meal I served. You gained weight, you were talking again, you were smiling again, and I had never hurt so much. You were standing on your own two feet, and I was drained dry."

Remus' breath was coming in short gasps, he choked on a sob just as another spasm of pain shook him. When this one passed, he whimpered in pain and looked to Sirius, who was rubbing his jaw speculatively. Remus continued, knowing he had to get this out now, before Sirius disappeared and he lost his chance. His voice was getting hoarse and he had to pause for breath every so many words.

"You laughed and I crawled onto the sofa and into your arms. I didn't have a choice. It felt right. I began to feel strong again, though this time I paid with my heart. I laughed more in those three months than I had in twelve years. You laughed too. I made you laugh. No sooner were we both healing than history began to repeat itself. You moved into that wretched house and I was sent off to try and persuade the werewolves to at least stay out of this fight. I came home each time desperate and weak, and you replenished me. I knew it was hard for you there in a place where you'd known nothing but hell, and so whenever I could I gave back some of the strength you gave me. It wasn't nearly enough, but I had nothing else to give you."

He inhaled deeply, trying to catch his breath, and was assaulted by a wave of that familiar mix of rain, earth and wet dog. It was much stronger than it had been before, as if that really _was_ Sirius sitting there in the chair. He sat for a moment, eyes closed and head back, just breathing, letting the scent surround and permeate him. But all too soon another burst of pain attacked him. It was a longer stretch than the others but it was dull. By the time it was over Remus couldn't sit up, so he continued from the floor.

Sirius moved to the edge of his seat, his face shining wet and his lips parted as he reached out and brushed the hair from Remus' forehead, but still he said nothing.

"And then you fell. You died. You left me alone _again_. This time I couldn't even hate you. I've got nothing else to draw from, Sirius. I'm alone and I'm terrified. I'm not ready for this, I can't. I'm lost, and it's your fault. I—" He'd been beginning to babble, choking on sobs as feeling poured form his mouth. But he had suddenly been cut off by a mouth on his, firm and insistent but heartbreakingly gentle. Sirius was on the floor beside him, curled around his body like a shield and blanket. Remus responded, pouring the things he didn't have breath for into the kiss. It was this same lack of breath that forced him to pull back, once again gasping.

There was another blast of pain, and this one was the worst of all. Remus could feel his body twisting, writhing, his mouth open and his face contorted in a silent scream. Throughout the whole thing, Sirius held him tight to his chest, using every ounce of strength to keep his lover still. It seemed as if it would never pass, but eventually Remus' body grew lax, and he lay cradled against Sirius' body.

"Moony, oh my Moony," Sirius whispered, just before burying his face in soft brown hair. Remus choked once, coughed and then smiled.

"You're here. You can't possibly be here, but you are. I don't know how, but you always _did_ have to do the impossible didn't you? I guess it's no wonder, this time I've paid with my mind."

"You never were all the way sane," Sirius said into his hair, accompanied by a chuckle that Remus could feel as well as hear.

"Yes, well, neither were you," Remus whispered, yawning against Sirius' collarbone. He was warm, he was safe he was—

"I love you, you know. I never did tell you before, but I do." Sirius' voice was low and soft.

Remus felt a tingling sensation spread from his chest outwards, and he got the distinct impression that he was floating. He was _loved_. He'd always known, somewhere deep down, but hearing the words said aloud made it that much more real, sealing out that last gnawing of doubt. "I love you too," he said around a yawn, wriggling in an attempt to get closer to Sirius. He could feel his eyelids drooping, his limbs felt pleasantly heavy and he could sleep now, because this was how it was supposed to be. "I'm going to sleep now Sirius. Be there when I wake?"

He didn't see the tears in Sirius' eyes, but he felt the nod. "See you in the morning, Moony."

"Sure thing Padfoot, unless I see you first." It was an old habit that had become like ritual, sprung from the days when both were young and eager to greet the day. Good night had always seemed too much like good-bye.

And so, wrapped in each others' arms, the last two remaining Marauders slept in a heap on the library floor of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. For the first time, the house didn't seem haunted.

Molly Weasley was deeply concerned about the health of the Order's resident werewolf. Sirius' death had affected him more than he'd admit, though for the life of her she couldn't understand why. She'd come today to help him heal after the moon. Ron and Hermione had come along, just in case there were some nasties remaining in the old house. She was chopping vegetables for stew when the pair came tromping into the kitchen.

"Hermione dear, would you run upstairs and ask Remus if he'd like some supper?"

The bushy-haired girl nodded her assent and ran back up the steps. Ron sat at the table, looking at the latest _Prophet_. He'd just turned the page when they both heard a scream from upstairs. Ron was out of his chair and leaping the stairs in a heartbeat, and his mother was not far behind.

On the landing stood Hermione, her hands clapped to her mouth and tears coming down her face. The door to the library was open, and Molly bustled past, leaving Ron to comfort the obviously shaken girl. She made it just through the door before freezing, her hand flying abruptly to her mouth.

There, lying on the floor, pale as death and cold to the touch, was the body of Remus J. Lupin, curled as if nestled against a lover. On the table Molly could see the goblet she'd filled with Blood-Replenishing Potion just that morning, and behind her she could hear the crunch of glass as Ron stepped on the shards of the broken bottle. She smelled Firewhiskey and shook her head.

"Never should have trusted him with that, he knew better," she murmured to herself before turning and ushering the children out of the room. There were people to be notified and things to be done, including airing out this room, Molly thought. She paused on the threshold and sniffed, yes this room definitely needed cleaning.

It smelled of water, dirt and wet dog.


End file.
